


Edge of Day

by Asynca



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Insert, Gen, this is how I think Sylvanas and Jaina could have properly met
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:28:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23676898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asynca/pseuds/Asynca
Summary: Sylvanas and Jaina meet unexpectedly at Icecrown Citadel soon after the defeat of the Lich King.Set before 'Edge of Night' by Dave Kosak.
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45





	Edge of Day

The Icecrown Citadel loomed above Jaina, black against grey clouds and still against the howling wind. Snow billowed around her, the wind battered against her, and even wrapped in thick bearskin coat that she’d enchanted herself, the bone-chilling cold clawed its way in. Shivering, she drew the cloak more tightly about herself.

The citadel was silent now; no more ghouls, or skeletal soldiers, or twisted abominations patrolling the gates. Just an open door, and empty tower, and a sea of broken bodies all over the wall-walk.

 _I shouldn’t have come here_ , Jaina decided, wondering why she had. What did she expect to find in here, really? Was she hoping that one of these bodies was her young prince looking just as she remembered him? Perhaps she was; there was something about the promise of a body to cry over that made her feel his legacy would finally be at an end, and that the shadow over her life would finally lift. 

The more she stood and stared up at the dark tower, however, the more she felt it was all hopeless. He’d killed so many people, how could it ever really be over?

“Lady Proudmoore.” A cool voice spoke, surprising her.

Someone stepped out of the blizzard, a lone figure with grey skin, red eyes and an uncanny resemblance to the bodies she stepped over. Jaina recognised her even before she was close enough to see the details of her face: Sylvanas Windrunner.

Sylvanas wasn’t wrapped in a dozen layers as Jaina was; in fact, much of her skin and her whole stomach was bare. The sight of it made Jaina shiver. Nevertheless, she nodded respectfully in greeting. “Lady Windrunner.”

Jaina had thought that Sylvanas would follow by telling Jaina the reason why _she_ was here, but she didn’t. Instead, she asked of her, “Come to mourn your _golden prince_?” Her lips twisted a little on that description of him.

Jaina didn’t much like her tone. “Well, I didn’t come here looking for a fight.”

Sylvanas watched her, unblinking. “Of course you didn’t.” There was a note of distaste that Jaina didn’t like in that, either. Was Sylvanas mocking her commitment to peace? Before Jaina could once again warn Sylvanas now wasn’t the time for conflict, Sylvanas lifted her heavy stare from Jaina and looked up towards the tower. It was a moment before she spoke. “Well. I suppose he left all of us with reason to mourn.”

Jaina noted the burnt tear-stains in Sylvanas’ cold cheeks. “Some more than others,” she said very gently.

Jaina wasn’t sure what reaction she expected from Sylvanas, but Sylvanas’ expression betrayed absolutely nothing at all. She didn’t even acknowledge Jaina had spoken.

The silence didn’t last long. Sylvanas straightened and took a few steps forward, pausing for a moment and looking over her shoulder. “Are you just going to stand there?”

Swallowing, Jaina followed her in through the mammoth double-doors of the citadel.

It wasn’t less cold inside, and there wasn’t less carnage. Soldiers of the Horde and the Alliance littered the ground floor, perfectly preserved by the sub-zero cold. To her dismay, Jaina recognised some of them: faces from battles she’d fought, faces from her time in Dalaran, and even a face or two from the Violet Citadel. All with sunken cheeks, grey skin, and clouded eyes. It was a shock to see them, but it wouldn’t do to dwell her sorrow at the loss of them now. Soon, the Alliance would mount an expedition to retrieve and repatriate their fallen heroes. A proper memorial would give them the honour their sacrifice had earnt.

Sylvanas herself cast no more than a cursory look over the bodies, moving directly towards the stairway upward. Jaina would very much have liked to have spent more time committing this awful scene to memory in case she ever felt like war was ever the answer to anything, but Sylvanas’ legs were longer than hers and if she didn’t rush to follow her, she was going to get left behind.

Sylvanas didn’t slow once she’d reached the stairs, either. Jaina struggled up them behind her, a little embarrassed to show any sign of tiring on them (or worse, completely giving up, admiting defeat and just using magic to ascend), but after several minutes of following after Sylvanas, she had to pause for a minute between levels to give her shaking muscles a break. “Sorry, I—” she began, but then found she was too breathless to finish.

Sylvanas nodded once, impassive. She looked completely unaffected by the fact they’d just climbed several enormous flights of stairs; in fact, she looked as calm and stoic as ever. A little jealous, Jaina wondered what it would be like to not have to worry about catching her breath.

Sylvanas noticed her lingering gaze and scowled. “If you’re wasting even a second of your time envying me, don’t,” she said coldly. “Catch your breath. Be glad you have it.”

Chastised, Jaina's cheeks flushed. Because of her periodic need to rest—however much of a gift it was—it took them longer the further they ascended until they exited onto the pinnacle. Immediately, they were both nearly blown flat by the wind. Jaina opened her mouth in a muted cry as the sharp teeth of the wind sunk into her skin; Sylvanas’ head snapped back towards her to check she wasn’t being blown towards the edge.

In front of them was the body they’d been searching for: a black shadow in the centre of the platform, with shattered armour around it collecting snow and ice. 

Bent double against the wind, they approached it. Once there, Jaina placed a barrier around them to protect them. Sylvanas glanced briefly at it, stood straight, and then turned her attention to the body.

They both stared at it.

Arthas lay on his back, one hand on his stomach as if there was a wound there, and the other bare and outstretched. The cursed helmet was gone, and all those beautiful golden tresses Jaina had once run her hands through now fanned around his head, bleached of their warm and blending into the white snow. His face _was_ just as Jaina remembered it; older, of course, but so very familiar. Just pale, sunken, and waxy. His eyes were closed.

Lying here, empty of the evil that had possessed him, he looked so small for all the chaos and destruction he’d wrought. It was hard to believe this man had nearly destroyed all life on Azeroth.

Sylvanas was walking a slow circle around him, brow knit. “I wonder,” she said in a tone that worried Jaina, “what were you planning to do with the body?”

Jaina took a long slow breath. “Take him back to Stormwind, I suppose,” she said. “Bury him in crypt beside the King and Queen of Lordaeron.”

Sylvanas’ lip curled. “I doubt they’d welcome being buried with the son who slaughtered them.”

Jaina didn’t know what to say to that. She hadn’t put much thought into what she’d do if she found him.

Sylvanas was still deep in thought, considering his body. There was a curious expression on her face. “Perhaps he shouldn’t be buried at all.”

Jaina glanced up at her, feeling deeply uneasy.

“After all he’s done, after all the horrors he forced innocent people to perform in his name, he doesn’t deserve to rest.”

Jaina swallowed, carefully watching her. “What are you suggesting?”

“I could raise him,” Sylvanas said easily, “and bend him to my will. I would ensure he spent eternity suffering and atoning for _every_ life he took and _every_ soul he destroyed.” She clearly enunciated each word, giving weight to them all. “We could parade him through cities, present him to the families who lost loved ones. Everyone would have a chance to make their loss felt to him.”

Jaina’s throat tightened—what _horror_ was she proposing? People needed to grieve, of course, but to turn their grief into something so ugly and violent? Surely that would just prolong the nightmare!

Before Jaina had time to order her thoughts into words, to beg Sylvanas not to let the suffering continue, Sylvanas glanced up at her, saw her expression, and hesitated.

It must have been enough. She scowled and looked away. “No. Looking at his face makes me sick to my core,” she decided. “I’d rather never see it again.”

Jaina exhaled with audible relief, still haunted by the image Sylvanas had described. “I think the best thing is that we let this all be over.”

Sylvanas locked eyes with her a moment, and then looked outward. She spent some time staring towards the blizzard and the sky beyond it. Then, she appeared to remember Jaina was still there, and waved a hand at her. “Take him, then. Go.”

Jaina frowned. “But don’t you want to—”

“I want you to leave.” Sylvanas looked back at her. For the first time since they’d arrived, she seemed impatient.

 _Then why did she come here_? Jaina wondered, confused. Did she perhaps only want to see for herself that he was truly gone? Jaina would like to have asked her, but every inch of her expression warned against it. “Take him,” she told Jaina. “Mourn your lost prince, Princess. Leave me be.”

Jaina frowned. The way Sylvanas spoke suggested that she probably thought Jaina only mourned a lost future as the Queen of Lordaeron, and Jaina found that horribly insulting. Did she not realise that Jaina had been close to the slaughtered royal family? Did she truly think Jaina had no compassion for all the people suffering around her? She had to bite back the desire to tell Sylvanas that she was not the only person in Azeroth to suffer loss. It would be better for her to hold her tongue. After all, this was a rare chance for her to speak face-to-face with a Horde faction leader, it wouldn’t do to destroy what may come from it in a flash of hot anger. “Very well,” Jaina eventually conceded. “I hope your time here brings you some peace.”

Sylvanas’ expression was unreadable. “As do I.”

For a moment they stood facing each other over Arthas’ body; Jaina was oddly reminded of a time when she and Thrall—a stranger, then—had stood in a similar position over the body of common foe.

 _I wonder_ … Jaina thought, the ghost of an idea forming in her mind. A flicker of hope; a vision of a different future: what if Sylvanas could also be a Thrall to her?

She didn’t have time to entertain that possibility right now as dallying was likely to further irritate Sylvanas and bury that future forever.

With much to think about, Jaina wasted no time in transporting herself and Arthas’ body back to her tower in Theramore, and leaving Sylvanas to her private reverie atop the Icecrown Citadel.


End file.
